


Make You

by Franzeska



Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fanfiction, Figging, M/M, Presumed Dead, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Waterboarding, foot whipping, machismo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzeska/pseuds/Franzeska
Summary: Matt has a creepy love of torture.





	1. Chapter 1

They took all the fun parts out of SERE training years ago, but Matt could still remember what it felt like, strapped to that board, drowning by degrees. It was the control that got him: the cool, professional way the instructors poured the water, how the victim writhed like a beached fish. Terrible metaphor, but an accurate description. When it was his turn, he broke like the rest of them. Some guys had nightmares for years. When Matt thought about waterboarding, it was with one hand on his cock.

***

The first time he saw Alejandro Gillick the man was a mess. He was a bereaved civilian in a too-nice suit and too many days of stubble. Matt saw the muscular span of his shoulders. He saw the dead look in his eyes. He saw _opportunity_.

***

"I don't see the point of this."

Gillick was strapped to a chair. His arms were bound to its back, his ankles to its legs. He was relaxed. Make that _apathetic_ , Matt thought as he circled. Gillick's knees flopped open like the zip ties didn't bother him. He was wearing a pale linen suit. He dressed to the right. Matt let his eyes linger.

Matt stepped into Gillick's personal space. "You don't learn this shit from books," he said.

"I volunteered to be here."

Depressed _and_ arrogant. He wasn't intimidated by Matt standing over him, probably because the poor bastard didn't care if he lived or died. But his body would fight to breathe, and once Matt was done, the rest of him would fight along with it.

"This what you're into?" Gillick looked pointedly at Matt's crotch.

"No. But it doesn't hurt to let your subject think it is." He grabbed a fistfull of Gillick's hair and slowly forced his head back. "There aren't many men who can handle the threat of rape."

Gillick blinked at him. He had sleepy, inscrutable eyes and one hell of a poker face, even in this awkward, suggestive position. He was going to be _so good_ one day.

"Only the threat?" he asked.

"Torture is all in the mind. Sexual intimidation leaves even fewer marks than waterboarding."

***

When Matt was younger, a lot younger, he'd been cute. He'd always been big and muscular, but there had been a time he could get away with boyish naivete. Now, older men were just _old_ , and there was no bigger shark swimming in these waters than Matt himself. He'd tried a professional once, but it hadn't been the same.

***

Alejandro was a pro of a different flavor, and he was the best. Matt watched him put down the water jug.

Their sweaty little mouse of a subject looked up at him, and Matt saw the fear bloom on his face. He was a big man back in Mexico, but here, in a featureless room with a drain in the floor, he was going to learn just how small he really was.

"I'm going to step out." Steve slipped off the table. He turned the camera off on his way out of the room. He'd always been a pussy about this stuff, but he didn't give Matt shit about it, so Matt returned the favor.

The anticipation was his favorite part.

Guillermo kept looking over at him, beads of sweat running down his face. Alejandro stood there, pressing into him. Implacable. Like a snake waiting to swallow its prey. The position was obvious. Textbook intimidation. He could see it lighting Guillermo's imagination on fire. It certainly did Matt's.

_"Now, you'll learn what hell is in Yankee Land."_

Alejandro's already deep voice dropped to a terrifying murmur during interrogations. Moreso when he spoke Spanish. Matt had been thinking about it for hours. He'd thought about it half an hour ago in the privacy of the men's bathroom. God bless refractory periods!

Alejandro hit like he did everything: With the remote, icy calm of a professional doing his job. Guillermo grunted with each punch, rhythmic grunts like sex, until he lay shaking against his bonds. "No," he begged. "Please."

The begging was almost as sweet as the anticipation. There was nothing like watching a man reduced to a whimpering wreck. Alejandro appeared unmoved. His suit was pristine. His breathing was even. He radiated a vicious masculinity that was impossible to ignore.

 _This is what a real man looks like,_ Matt wanted to say, but he didn't like to break in on such artistry.

The prisoner lay on the floor, crying. His struggles had knocked the chair over. Pathetic. He couldn't even take it like a man--but then, who could be a match for Alejandro?

Alejandro uncapped the water. He flipped the chair so that the prisoner was face up on the floor. "I need a cloth," he said.

Matt grinned at him, slow and lazy. He held out his pocket knife. "Guillermo," he said, addressing the blubbering wreck, "Alejandro needs to borrow your shirt."

Alejandro lifted the heavy jug of water. He handled it with precision. Just enough water to set the prisoner struggling, then a reprieve, then more water. Matt's old instructors were clumsy amateurs in comparison. None of them had his sleek grace or the stomach for real torture. The muscles of Alejandro's forearm bunched as he tipped the jug again. Nothing was out of place, no speck of effort wasted.

It only took a couple of rounds before the prisoner was screaming, begging to tell them. Matt could have asked him anything, and he'd have agreed. Not ideal for collecting real information, but a pleasure to watch. Matt felt the warm glow of completion settle in his stomach, with just a hint of regret. A performance like this should be savored, but a master like Alejandro worked for only a few minutes.

"You're ready to talk?" Alejandro asked.

The prisoner nodded desperately.

Alejandro crouched to remove the shirt. The prisoner's face was streaked with tears and snot. "You'll tell them everything?" Alejandro asked, still in that measured, quiet tone Matt knew so well.

"Yes, _yes_." It was a rasping croak. Matt could imagine how raw his throat must feel.

Alejandro stood. "Then I will leave you with one final thought." He unzipped his fly.

Matt froze. He had seen Alejandro's cock a few times sharing hotel rooms and bathrooms. He'd never really _looked_. You didn't. It was a rule. But Alejandro wasn't paying attention to him.

The stream of piss hit the prisoner in the face. He cried out, spluttered. It was everywhere: in his nose, in his eyes.

"Remember," Alejandro said. "I can always do worse."

He shook himself dry and tucked his cock away. His poker face was as perfect as ever, no sign he'd done anything more than ask a few questions. His voice was calm and reasonable and more terrifying than any yell.

Refractory period be damned! There was life in the old dog yet. Matt hopped up from the table. "I'll let them know he's ready to talk." But first, he had an emergency date with the nearest men's room.

Alejandro didn't look up. He hefted the jug again and began to wash the evidence down the drain.

***

Matt thought about that plenty through all the boring interrogations with just fists. He thought about it when he looked at Alejandro, remote and pretending to sleep behind his sunglasses.

But when he watched him gunned down, he thought of nothing at all.

***

Steve was worried about him. At least he hadn't offered to talk or any of that other headshrinker jazz. They went to a bar a couple of times a month and shot the shit, talked about all the guys they'd worked with. All the _other_ guys. Matt didn't have anything active. Either he was being punished or they'd decided he wasn't up to it. Maybe he wasn't. It just didn't seem _fun_ lately.

He drank too much bad whiskey and stumbled home to bed and tried not to think too hard about bloated bodies rotting in the sun.

The feel of a living body settling on his chest startled him awake.

It took him longer than usual to wake up. He was muzzy. Too many whiskeys? Or was it more than that? He knew the feeling of booze, and this wasn't it. Something in his drink then? His arms were over his head. He jerked them. Tied!

The cold muzzle of a gun pressed into his forehead. He looked at it cross-eyed, and past it, to Alejandro's heavy and unreadable eyes.

"Tell me about the girl," Alejandro said.


	2. Chapter 2

Matt's head swam. It wasn't exhaustion. Someone had slipped him a mickey. Nothing felt real. "They shot you in the head," he said stupidly.

Alejandro turned his face one way, then the other. The dim light from the window caught the faint trace of a scar on his cheek. It was still livid, but tiny. Such a small scar for a shot that had blown Matt's life apart.

He tried to touch it, already forgetting his hands. The material tugged at his wrist. It felt like cloth. Not cuffs then, not something fast. He'd slept through being slowly restrained. He flexed his ankles experimentally. He was tied there too. The weight on his chest was a more effective restraint, but the stupefaction was the most effective of all.

Alejandro wore black. Like a fucking Mexican ninja. He'd scare the neighbors. Dark brown jacket, dark jeans: that's how you snuck into civilian residences at night, not this all black melodrama. He weighed a ton. He was in good shape for a dead man.

The gun barrel traced down Matt's cheek, surreal like a modern version of that creepy fucking painting they stuck on the covers of shit. Matt was even wearing white. He'd have scrounged up something better than a smelly v-neck and a pair of ugly boxers if he'd known he was having company. He should have done the laundry yesterday.

"Isabel," Alejandro said.

Alejandro's voice was even. It held the familiar blank calm. The gun pressed into the soft hollow under Matt's jaw, forcing his head back. It hurt. The rest of him was floating, his brain sloshing around in the unreality of the situation. Or maybe that was drugs. Nobody had slipped him anything in years. It just didn't come up anymore with the work he did.

"How the fuck did you get my address?"

"Contacts," Alejandro said. He ground the gun into Matt's jaw harder. " _Talk_."

"Yeah? What did your contacts say?" Matt was supposed to be Alejandro's contact. They were buddies. Kind of. Who did he know who would know this address?

"Word is, the great Matt Graver finally cracked."

"Evidently." He'd had dreams where Alejandro was okay. They'd been cruel parodies of the truth. He'd arrived in time, guns blazing. Big fucking hero.

"She was fifteen."

"No shit." It was too dark to see the scar properly. There was just enough light to make his peripheral vision act up. Alejandro had the best poker face of any agent he'd ever trained, and his voice gave nothing away.

"Tell me what happened."

"Sounds like you've already got it all figured out." _Three months_ of nothing and then this shit.

"I want to hear it from you."

"What, before you put a bullet in me? Jesus, Alejandro."

"Was it fast?"

"It wasn't fucking anything. We took her with."

Alejandro sat back. A shadow fell across him. He regarded Matt dispassionately. Or he could have been making a face. It's not like Matt could really tell in the dark. "Your orders were to kill her," he said.

"My orders were to clean up," Matt said.

"You told me to kill her."

"I didn't have a lot of options." Alejandro's expressionless voice was driving him crazy. Not that his face would give anything more away, but Matt wanted to see it.

"Tell me what really happened."

"That _is_ what really happened."

Alejandro shifted. He put the gun down on the nightstand. Matt could see it gleaming out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm going to ask you again."

Matt felt Alejandro's hand on his hip. He tried not to notice. "There's nothing to tell. You either believe me or you don't."

"Where is she then?"

"WITSEC."

"Where specifically?"

"How the fuck would I know? It's _WITSEC_. That's kind of the point."

Alejandro sighed. "The Matt Graver I know would not leave something like that to chance. If you had genuinely placed her in protective custody, you would know where."

Matt thought about it. He thought about the little house in a boring Ohio town. Someone could spirit her away in the night without him knowing, but he doubted Cynthia would authorize that at this point.

Alejandro slid his hand under Matt's undershirt. He lifted it away from Matt's skin. It was an old one, worn soft and thin in the wash. Alejandro ripped it down the middle, sending a wash of cool air over Matt's skin.

"You brought this on yourself," Alejandro said. He spoke calmly. He wasn't trying to intimidate. He was simply stating a fact. Matt had trained him to torture, and now it was Matt's own turn.

Goosebumps crawled over Matt's chest.

"You like to cook," Alejandro said.

Well, that was a hell of a non sequitur. Matt tested his bonds again. They were tight, but his circulation was good, just like he'd taught Alejandro. A professional only caused damage on purpose.

"I searched your kitchen. It's nice."

Alejandro leaned forward. His familiar aftershave cut through the scent of gun oil and wool. He flicked on the bedside lamp. It created a bubble of light around them, strangely intimate in the darkness of the room.

"Thought I'd live in a shithole?" Matt asked.

"Didn't think you ate anything but takeout."

Alejandro turned back to face Matt. The knife glittered in his fist. It was one of Matt's paring knives, the littlest one from the set. Matt had just had it sharpened the other day. He watched the light slide along it as Alejandro moved it from side to side. Classic technique. Hypnotize the subject with the implement before you used it on him.

The first cut was so light he barely felt it. By the third, he was cursing. They were superficial, but they stung like a bitch. Alejandro didn't bother to ask him anything while he worked.

Alejandro got up and left the room. It took Matt a second to notice. His chest welled with tiny beads of blood. He couldn't stop looking at them. He didn't think he was in shock--not that kind anyway. The _what the fuck_ kind, definitely. He looked up as Alejandro glided back into the room.

"Didn't picture you as a cocktail guy," Alejandro said. He settled himself back on the bed, next to Matt this time. He'd mixed himself a gin and tonic. Matt could smell the sharp scent.

"You know me: a bottle of jack and I'm happy," Matt said in his best good old boy voice.

Ice cubes clinked in Alejandro's glass. "Lots of citrus on hand for a guy who only drinks jack." Alejandro fished the wedge of lime out of his glass. It dripped cold liquid on Matt's chest.

"Ow, jesus!"

Alejandro hummed and ran the lime over another cut. Matt hissed. It stung like a bitch. He twisted away. Alejandro followed him with the lime wedge. "Hold still," he said.

" _You_ try holding still when someone--" He yelped. The lime juice made his chest hurt like a mass of papercuts from hell.

"Tell me about Isabel."

"Fuck off." He jerked to the side, and the next swipe of lime landed on unbroken skin.

Alejandro rolled him back into position. He swung a leg over and resettled himself on top of Matt. Delicately, he began to run the lime wedge over Matt's chest again. His fingers were warm around the icy fruit. The sensations pinged back and forth from gentle to excruciating. Matt's head swam. It was hard to focus on Alejandro's words when his hands were touching Matt's skin with such intent. His thighs pinned Matt to the bed. He was warm and heavy, and when he moved, he brushed against Matt's stiffening erection.

Abruptly, Alejandro was gone.

Matt's cock tented his boxers. His chest throbbed. He'd missed whatever Alejandro had said. He might have missed the last ten things Alejandro had said. He'd noticed, hadn't he? He had to have noticed.

Alejandro moved nearly silently. He knelt on the bed. His knife flashed out. Matt tensed, but it was only his boxers, sliced from one end to the other. Alejandro peeled them off of him. Matt's cock flopped against his stomach. If he'd had any brains at all, he'd have been thinking about his great aunt's incontinent chihuahua or the smell of hospital antiseptic. Instead, all he could see was Alejandro's dark eyes watching him.

"You told me it happened to some men," Alejandro said. He ran the back of the blade over Matt's cock. "This is the first time I've seen it."

The knife caught the light. Alejandro's eyes were hooded and dark as always. It was like falling down a well with no bottom you could find.

"Do you often get an erection when you're afraid?"

"No," Matt said truthfully.

Alejandro made a thoughtful noise. He picked something up from the bed and began to peel it. The scent of fresh ginger washed over Matt. What the fuck was that lunatic up to now? Alejandro carefully worked the ginger until he had a smooth piece a couple of inches long and half an inch wide. The scent was overwhelming. Matt licked his lips. He didn't say anything.

The first touch on his cock was cool. It left a faint, moist trail. Then came the fire.

"Jesus!"

"I need you to tell me about Isabel." Alejandro rubbed the ginger into the head of his cock. "Tell me how you killed her."

"I didn't kill her, you moron." Matt breathed through his nose. "Nobody killed her. If you hadn't gotten yourself shot in the fucking head, you would… _Ah…_ " He groaned.

Alejandro was holding him steady, one callused palm wrapped around his cock so that he couldn't get away from the ginger. Killer's hands. Powerful. Precise. Matt couldn't help thrusting into his tight grip.

Alejandro trailed the ginger down his groin. He pressed Matt's thigh down with his other hand. The rounded end of the ginger left trails of sensation around Matt's rim. Then, Alejandro pressed it inside.

At first, it just felt strange. It had been a long time since he'd gotten any of the toys out of the box at the bottom of his closet. After a moment, the tingling started. It was just a little added sensation, nothing he couldn't handle, but it built. And built. Sensation stabbed into him. It throbbed and grew.

"Take it out," Matt said.

It wasn't warm. He was on fire, but it was the heat of a chemical burn. His nerves screamed. Tender membranes inflamed. He had to get it out. He squirmed, but every movement only forced it deeper.

"Alejandro, _please_."

"Tell me."

"You want me to lie?"

He'd been shot before. This wasn't like that. It was an intimate pain. It built, and when he thought it had plateaued, it built again. It was inescapable. They'd taught him how to go away in his head, how to tune torturers out, but he couldn't stop looking at Alejandro or stop seeing how Alejandro was looking back at him.

Tears streamed down his face. "Please," he mumbled. "Please."

Alejandro stood over him, a dark presence at the end of the bed. The light of the bedside lamp didn't reach his face, but it outlined the jut of his erection. It would have been more impressive in white linen. Black on black was barely visible. Matt had to crane his neck to see. But when Alejandro turned to the side, the bulge was unmistakable.

He turned back with a wooden spoon in his hand. It was one from Matt's own kitchen. _The hell?_

"Handle or bowl?"

Matt panted. His ass was on fire. Alejandro was hard. Was he doing it to intimidate, or had he gotten a taste for this? Was he _enjoying_ this? His gravelly voice gave nothing away, but Matt had never seen him get hard in an interrogation, not even when he was threatening a man with his cock. Did that mean he liked it? Did that mean he was going to follow through? Matt clenched around the ginger, and a fresh wave of sensation rippled through him.

Alejandro still stood there holding the spoon, like he was waiting for something. He'd asked a question. Matt struggled to remember. "Uh… you're going to have to help me out here, buddy," he said in a broken croak.

"Which end?" Alejandro turned the spoon over.

"Dealer's choice?"

Alejandro lifted Matt's foot. The bonds were long enough to allow a little movement. "I have a theory," he said.

"Yeah?"

"All those flipflops. All those sandals. I think you're sensitive." He massaged the arch of Matt's foot with his thumb.

Matt shuddered.

The handle of the spoon came down with a stinging crack. Matt bit his lip to keep from crying out. "Count with me," Alejandro said.

"Two," Matt gasped out. "Three." He would have flung himself off the bed by four. He wrapped his hands around the restraints and held on.

"Eight," said Alejandro. "Come on. With me."

Nine. He couldn't get it out. He couldn't get his mouth to work.

"Ten. Are you ready to talk?"

Matt hung there, clutching his bonds, spread-eagle on his own bed and humiliatingly hard. Tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes. He shook his head.

Alejandro nodded like he wasn't surprised. He moved to Matt's other foot. "One," he counted. "Two."

Matt would have talked. He would have said anything. Each strike made him clench, and each time he tightened around the piece of ginger, his whole body lit up with fire. He'd never be able to sleep in this bed again without knowing he could wake up helpless, at Alejandro's mercy.

His feet were on fire. It never evened out, just got worse and worse with every stroke. That's why you went with the feet. Minimum force; maximum pain. Do it right, and you wouldn't even leave a mark. Useful in his line of work. He'd taught Alejandro. Alejandro, the perfect student.

"Ten," Alejandro said.

In the sudden silence, Matt was aware of his ass throbbing again. The ginger was losing its potency. Or else his feet smarted so badly that his body had given up processing it. His limbs shook. His muscles felt like jello.

Alejandro cut the cords holding his feet. Matt could have kicked him if his legs had been working. He winced as Alejandro touched the ginger. Even brushing against it made him tense. Alejandro twisted it a few times, pushed it into him before sliding it free. He rubbed Matt with his thumb. Matt was sore. Sensitized. He heard the sound of Alejandro's zipper.

"No," Matt whispered. "No, please. Not that."

"Shh," said Alejandro.

His eyes were intent on Matt's face. He spread Matt's legs, bent him backwards in a move that had last been a good idea a couple of decades ago. Matt was so wrung out that he moved easily. Alejandro's cock slid inside.

It felt like a poker being run through him. He was so sensitive from the ginger, and it had been so long. Alejandro felt huge. Matt made a wordless sound of denial. The tears streamed down his cheeks. Alejandro stared into his eyes. His expression was terrifyingly intense. The sharp planes of his face turned towards the light. Matt could see the scar clearly for the first time. It was real. It was so real. It was right here. Alejandro was here. Real. Alive.

"Don't leave," Matt said.

Alejandro's hand tightened on his cock, and supernovas exploded behind Matt's eyes. _Been a long time since I passed out during sex_ , he thought as the room slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt blinked awake. Now this was a blast from the past. His habit of fainting had scared the crap out of his partners back in his more flexible, limber, _experimental_ days. His back twinged right on cue. Getting old was hell.

Something jostled his wrist. Alejandro was yanking at his bonds. The fabric resisted. He sawed it in two with the knife. So much for getting it sharpened!

Alejandro's skin looked green, even in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. He was too pale, and Matt could feel the tremor in his fingers as he checked Matt's wrist for damage. The fabric was a conservative navy and maroon stripe. Silk. "I liked that tie," Matt said.

"You hate ties."

Alejandro sawed through the other one. It was navy with a subtle pattern woven into it. They'd both been graduation gifts a long time ago, relics of a time he'd had to pretend to be conventional. It wasn't true that Matt hated all ties. He'd once had one of a hula dancer that lit up. He had fond memories of using it to annoy the shit out of a commanding officer back ten years or so ago.

Alejandro unwrapped the second tie. He rubbed Matt's wrist. He didn't need to: Matt's circulation was doing just fine. The unreality of it hit him again. Alejandro. Here. Pressed up alongside him in his bed.

"I'd think I was imagining you if I weren't so fucking sore."

Alejandro's eyes flicked to his. His face wasn't any more readable than before, but Matt could feel the tension coming off of him. Guilt? Clearly, Matt hadn't been as good a teacher as he'd thought.

"Let me see," Matt said and reached out.

Alejandro's stubble was rough under his hand. Matt turned him till the scar was in the light. He ran a finger over it. Right through both cheeks. His jawline didn't even look different. Somebody had done a good job patching him up while Matt drowned in dirty laundry and self-recrimination.

"How in the hell…?" Talk about dumb luck. A clean shot like that and then being left behind. They could have emptied a clip into him to make sure. Matt would have.

"They had something over my head. There was a lot of blood. Enough to fool them."

"Fooled me too," Matt said. He ran his finger over the scar again. "Saw you go down on the scopes."

He couldn't put it into words: The noise and heat of the chopper. The hum of Steve trying to talk. The way he kept replaying those blotches of green and white over again in his head, long after the sun had risen and he could see the desert spread out below them. It was beautiful, empty, enigmatic. It would have made a fitting tomb.

"You didn't come back to make sure."

"It was a fucking headshot."

Maybe he'd managed to say it all anyway. Alejandro looked at him thoughtfully. "You going to tell me you wouldn't have put a bullet in me?"

"I wouldn't have left you in the desert to die of dehydration. _Shit._ Even _I'm_ not that much of an asshole." Matt knew should move his hand. He was the one shaking now. There was no way Alejandro could miss it.

"I found the bodies," Alejandro said. "Took their car." His fingers traced over one of the cuts on Matt's chest. Matt leaned into his touch. "Word on the street is you finally turned so rabid your own handlers are afraid of you."

Matt snorted. "That's a nice spin."

"I came here to make you talk." He rubbed a thumb over Matt's nipple and down to another of the cuts. "I always wondered what it would be like, turning your own tricks on you."

"I never taught you to fuck like a pornstar."

Alejandro's gaze slid away. He was embarrassed or some other quagmire of emotions Matt wasn't sure he wanted to poke at. "Each person breaks differently. You taught me that. Analyze each subject. Study their responses." He trailed off.

Alejandro had studied his responses all right. "Not what you pictured?" Matt asked.

"You were supposed to resist."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I?" He'd forgotten the feeling of really good sex, how it made him want to curl into another body and run his mouth when he should probably shut up. Alejandro was radiating the kind of embarrassment that meant he'd liked it too. Maybe he'd liked it a lot. Matt ran his fingers over Alejandro's jaw, feeling the stubble scratch along his sensitive skin.

"I thought you liked to watch."

"Anyone would enjoy watching an artist."

"Not anyone. _You_."

It came out flat, hard. Was that a bad thing? Alejandro's hand was still on his chest. He was still pressed up alongside Matt in the weird, post-coital intimacy they'd fallen into. Matt felt like a puddle of overcooked noodles. It was easier to think about his body than to probe that sucking chest wound of memory that just yesterday he'd thought would kill him. The endorphins were fading, leaving behind all those questions he only liked to ask when he was alone, in the dark, with a bourbon in his hand. If Alejandro wanted him to talk, fine, he could talk.

"They ordered a clean sweep," Matt said. "I thought if you killed her yourself, I could bargain."

"You could have warned me. We could have worked something out," Alejandro said.

"You think I haven't spent these months thinking that? Wondering?"

Alejandro searched his face. He looked surprised, as much as he ever looked anything. "Didn't know it would chew you up so bad," he said after a while.

"I've got plenty of assets, but only one artist." Matt sighed. "Shit, I must be crazy. The orders were clear. Crystal."

He'd killed kids. He'd killed a whole mess of kids. The African operations were nothing but, sometimes, if you could count some damaged little punk with an old machine gun as a kid. However fancy a school they'd plucked her out of, Isabel Reyes was no innocent bystander. The whole family was dipped in blood up to its elbows. He could kill a kid no problem.

"I kept seeing it happen on the monitor," Matt said. "Just replaying it over and over as I popped each one of them. That stupid fuck of a leader thought he could use her as a shield."

"And?" Alejandro tensed.

What was he expecting? That Matt would finally change his tune? Give him some big revelation about teenage brain matter splattered all over the inside of a car? "And I shot him in the head. He didn't even have time to twitch."

"Isabel?"

"We went off in the chopper like one big, trigger-happy family, back to the good old U.S. of A. and left the bodies to rot." Left _your_ body, he meant.

Alejandro digested that. "Your orders…"

"I wasn't thinking about orders."

"The Matt Graver I know…"

Matt cut him off. "Maybe you don't know me that well."

Alejandro watched him for a while. "Maybe not," he said at last. His hand drifted up to cup Matt's cheek. "What if you get another order?" he asked.

Matt chuckled. "It's information leaks they're concerned about. If you didn't spill after that clusterfuck of a mission…"

His brain was already working. He'd tell someone, of course. Alejandro's face was too well known to the CIA and to a number of others. But while the Reyes business had been kept quiet, the loss of his asset was known in the right circles. If Alejandro had been out of contact with his other associates… If he were generally assumed to be dead… The return of a dead man had its uses in the theatrics of the business. Cynthia owed him. All he needed was the right spin.

For the first time in months, Matt felt excited to get back to work. This wasn't a setback. No, it was an opportunity.


End file.
